In His Arms
by chartreuseian
Summary: They were messy and damaged and not even a little perfect but she was in his arms and that's all that mattered. That and they were in love. Helen reflects on what led her to where being in his arms. ONESHOT


**That's right, I'm back! Assessment is (essentially) finished for a little while and I am so pumped. Though I am so not pumped about the fact that my copy of Season 3 is still yet to arrive... **

**Originally I started writing a completely different story but then, whilst searching for music, I came across Christina Perri's Arms and this erupted. The song gave me what I shall now dub Teslen Tingles (I really think that ought to be a thing) and I couldn't resist writing a fic to it. So, you know, go listen to it :) I think it makes the story make more sense...**

**This is set somewhere in the future, it's not specified because it doesn't really matter. Though I should clarify that it's set in a future where Helen and Nikola finally get their act together. Might be a little OoC... Not sure...**

**Yeah, don't own it. Don't own the song either. Don't even own season 3 yet... (Yeah, I'm bitter)**

**Let me know what ya think! Tesla moustache cookies for those who do!**

**Enjoy**

**xx**

* * *

><p>She could feel his soft breath on the back of her neck and she knew instinctively that he was asleep. The room was still dark, only the first vestiges of morning light seeping in through her thick curtains. It had been a cool night but Helen was comfortable, his arm slung over her waist was enough warmth. With an irrepressible little smile, she moved back into his embrace until she could feel the entire length of his body pressed against hers. Her smile widened as she felt his arm tighten around her. She fought the urge to roll over and wake him up, knowing that even in his immortal state, he needed to rest.<p>

But oh, how she was tempted. This wasn't the first time they'd woken up like this, far from it in fact. Roughly, it was the 759th time… Give or take. In the past two years they had only been separated when it was unavoidable plus the few times before that and despite having spent more than a century sleeping in the middle of the bed, Helen had quickly found the benefits outweighed the diminished space though it had taken her some time to get used to it.

This had all started when the world was ending. Or so it had seemed. Perspective made it seem inconsequential in comparison to the struggles they had all faced since then. She couldn't quite remember what the actual problem had been but she did remember being afraid. More afraid than she'd ever been. She had a sneaking suspicion he had been too but no amount of cajoling had convinced him to admit it. But regardless, the world had been ending and she was afraid. Afraid enough to admit it to him one evening as they prepared a battle plan. He'd said nothing, just grabbing her hand and smiling softly in silent support. Then it had hit her. That things might not go to plan, that they might die, that he might die, that the world might actually end this time. So, naturally, she'd launched herself at him, whispering that this was a "just in case" thing. He'd tried to fight but she had been so vehement in her wordless attack that he'd given in, pulling her closer into him. That night had been frenzied, filled with desperate cries and a need to hold something, anything in the hopes that it would give them the strength to fulfil the next day's mission.

She'd slipped away quickly, not looking back as she dashed to her room. The next day they both pretended nothing had changed but Helen was unable to shake the sense of rightness the evening had been tinged with. She'd contemplated telling him about it but decided against it. It would be easier for both of them to let go if it could remain a night that was nothing more than what it appeared to be on the surface. It would be easier to let go when one of them didn't come back.

But they both came back. Everyone did. And unscathed at that. As she was sitting by the fire afterwards, she'd secretly dubbed it the miracle mission. The one time that things didn't go wrong. She'd been just about to call it an evening when he had appeared in the doorway, jubilantly waving a bottle of wine at her. She'd laughed and they'd had a glass, toasting to their good luck. She'd been surprised when he made no lewd comments, suggested no particular celebrations, not even the faint undertone of expectation had tainted the evening. So, naturally, she threw herself at him. This time, however, she didn't need to say anything. He'd responded with unbridled enthusiasm tainted with something that was almost too sweet. He'd been gentle and teasing and sweet and she'd fallen asleep in his arms, again surrounded by the knowledge that something about this was just _right_.

Then the morning came, however and it had been filled with nerves and awkward uncertainties. He'd assumed and she'd assumed and things had fallen apart. She'd slipped away, leaving him covered by nothing more than a sheet because she was terrified. More terrified than she'd been by the end of the world thing. She never wanted to leave him. And it was terrifying. She never wanted to leave that warm cocoon of his physical and metaphorical embrace. It felt too much like home, as clichéd and painful as it was to admit. Something about that night had been far more intimate than she'd ever been with him. Something about it had been so open, so honest and it was dangerous. It wasn't that she made the conscious decision to let him in like that, he'd just somehow managed to see through her walls. To see the truth about her. And it was scarier than the end of the world. It was scarier than the end of the world AND the thought of having to drink coffee.

They hadn't spoken for a week afterwards. It was only when he found her standing mutely in his door way, unshed tears making her eyes shine that things had improved. He stood, walked towards her and wrapped her in his arms. She let out a deep, heaving sob before pulling him closer. She knew she should be crying but the tears dried up the second he touched her. He put his arms around her and she didn't care that they made no sense, that he wasn't the one she was supposed to be with. Although, how she could have thought that anything that felt so right could be so wrong was, even to this day, beyond her.

From that point, they were O.K. Not good, not perfect, certainly not sure of what they were doing but they'd been O.K. Or at least close enough to O.K to be considered O.K. They were still a mess, still uncertain, still testing what this was. For a time, they'd tried to pretend to be normal but nothing was normal anymore. He'd tried to remain snarky and sarcastic but his words, as 'normal' as they had been had annoyed her more than before. He wasn't that man. He was so much more. He was more than the blatant innuendo he slathered on whenever they had company, as if trying to prove that they were still them. She'd shot him down, as per usual, relying on quick, snippy comments. Then, one day, out of the blue, she'd caught sight of his face just after she made a particularly biting remark. He was hurting. She was hurting him. Her words did penetrate his cool exterior, he was feeling them. That was the last time she'd been so nasty and he'd quickly picked up on her change of heart, dropping the snide tone he usually reserved for her. People had begun to notice that something was different but she'd stopped caring. What was the point in pretending that things were normal when they weren't? Things had changed. They weren't just old friends who were having sex. They couldn't be who they had been _and_ have what they wanted. Not that they'd spoken about it very often. Actually, by then they hadn't spoken about it at all.

And they weren't really sleeping together either. Not often. More of it was just holding each other, sitting with each other, holding hands, chaste kisses. It was like courting. With the occasional romp in the sheets added in for good measure when either of them got fed up with their pace. But mostly it was soft, gentle, sweet, an exploration of whatever it was they were becoming.

At first, Helen had been dubious. Thankfully, she'd moved from the terrified stage but now the self doubt was setting in. She was too close to falling in love with him which naturally meant she was too close to hurting him. She didn't want to hurt him, not after more than a century of what now appeared to be constant devotion. She couldn't fall for him because she knew he'd catch her and she was no featherweight. She had baggage that could out baggage… Well, maybe there wasn't really anything to compare that to but still, she didn't come unburdened as she had when she was younger. The woman he had fallen in love with was a far less complicated person. Actually, infinitely more complex but without any of the complexes she had now. The young, blonde doctor was complicated, she had to love the right man, she had to do things the proper way even though she was anything but proper. She was complicated but it was a simple type of complicated that really, with all this time to think about wasn't even a sensible kind of complicated. Now though, _now_ she was so many layers of complicated, that she knew she shouldn't burden someone with her twisted, broken and barely put back together love. Especially not someone she actually did love. In those early days she wouldn't let him get too close. She hadn't wanted to be open with him, to let down her guard enough to tell him she loved him. Or that this kind of love was something she'd never felt before.

She knew she'd been difficult, always changing her mind without a single indicator, never telling him why. She'd briefly wondered if she changed her mind enough times whether or not he'd get fed up with her and leave but she'd been astounded by his patience. Though, a few weeks of possibility must have seemed like a lifeline after nearly a century of silent, distant longing. It would have been easier for both of them if he'd left. Or if she had. Things would have been easier if they stopped but easier didn't mean that it wouldn't hurt. Or that it would stop the hurt their inability to be them as well as this new thing was inflicting. They both knew it would hurt more to walk away. This was hard and frustrating and painful and inexplicably terrifying but it would be easier to die at this point than let go of each other. It was hard but it was going to be worth it. They knew it would be.

Despite her fears and her inability to let him love her, things slowly improved. There was no turning point, no defining event, it was just a simple progression as they started to remember that they didn't have to be just friends anymore because they had so much else. There came a point where Helen realised she wanted him to see through her, to _see_ her. Somewhere her fear had transformed into a fear of not knowing him. Of not knowing each other. Occasionally she'd start to fret that they'd never have enough time or that one of them would die. Only his arms could calm her down. All he had to do was hold her and she'd start to breathe again. She didn't have to say anything, he'd simply look in her eyes and know why her lips were suddenly pressed shut, back straighter than the pole he used to tease her about having shoved up there.

Somehow, it seemed that when the world was falling down on them, the one man she never expected to love was the only one who could help her. Somehow, someday, someway he had become the person she needed. Their support was always silent, unspoken but unwavering and she could see him trying, trying to be kinder, softer, gentler with the rest of her team too. Not that he often succeed but she could see him trying. Trying for her. She didn't need him to be different but it was nice that he wanted to try.

And that was the beauty of it, for as much as they tried to be normal, once they stopped trying to be normal they actually were. They didn't need to try and be themselves because they were, they were just themselves, together. Why they had been so worried was something she could no longer understand. She never thought he'd be the one to steal her heart but now it all seemed so logical and she couldn't figure out how she'd missed it.

Not that they were perfect. They fought and argued and tried to kill each other on occasion but they loved each other and that was enough. They rarely said it but it was true. They were in love. No matter what, no matter who tried to stop it, it seemed to be undeniable. And Helen found herself impressed by her positively thick skull. She'd been in love with him since that first time he'd held her in his arms and for some now unknown reason she'd fought it tooth and nail, she'd fought to not be loved by the man she loved more than anything. It seemed daft that it had taken her that long to realise it but it was true. Something so simple and so comforting had changed her, changed everything about her life in the most amazing way possible. They were messy and weren't the perfect match but they didn't need perfection, they had each other.

"Finished over thinking whatever it is that woke you at this ungodly hour yet?" came his soft words against her neck, bringing her back to the present. She should have jumped at the sudden interruption of her thoughts but instead her heart leapt, he was awake.

"Good morning to you too," she said softly, rolling over to face him. He smiled and pulled her closer, eyes still closed. Unthinkingly, she leant forwards, brushing her lips against the tip of his nose. He let out a chuckle but his eyes remained closed.

Unwavering in her attempt to make him look at her, she moved closer again, her lips ghosting over his. As she moved back again, he let out a soft, contented hum.

"Morning," Nikola said softly, blinking a few times as his smile widened.

"Morning," she whispered back, letting him pull her closer.

She was in his arms and, as per usual, it felt like home.


End file.
